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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24823465">fantasy stories for fantasy boys</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridianArtiste/pseuds/viridianArtiste'>viridianArtiste</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dungeons &amp; Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fluff, Gen, Non-Chronological, Panic Attacks, Team as Family, misuse of the vicious mockery cantrip, snarking is a valid love language, sometimes you just gotta drink hot chocolate in the middle of the night</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 03:34:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,288</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24823465</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/viridianArtiste/pseuds/viridianArtiste</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>five moments across months of adventure, in between all the fighting and running and world-saving.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Animate Dead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/linuseleos/gifts">linuseleos</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hello, hello! this is a birthday gift for my girlfriend, starring our ocs in what i've been calling the rpg au. creative, i know.</p><p>a few of the references might fly over the heads of other people, but i hope it's still enjoyable!</p><p>also, even if this is tagged under dnd, the focus is more on the characters and their interactions, and i play fast and loose with more than a few mechanics. whoops?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The clock on his desk reads 4:43pm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Viola would be content to let it slowly tick its way to 4:44pm, if only it wasn't also ticking towards the headache building at the base of his skull. He is suddenly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>relentlessly</span>
  </em>
  <span> tired. He has been poring over books and maps for hours, but they have no new leads regarding the brigand troupe that robbed the Fairbrooke Conservatory of its book of songs and poisoned its headmaster. Carmine, Cel, and Miles are out on another effort to skulk around the city's edges on the off chance they run into the right criminals. Viola would worry more about his brother if he didn't know that Daefir and Blythe had elected to stay guard at the conservatory, and the chances of another incident of 'friendly inter-party teasing' blowing up in their faces were slimmer than usual. The camp's only occupants were him and Elie, who had been out by the lakeshore since lunch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Deciding that any more work in this state would only put him in a worse mood and ultimately prove futile, he makes his way out of the tent. Outside, the air is sharper and the sounds of the forest are louder, without the canvas to muffle them. He picks his way around the firepit and scattered weaponry (just another testament to how half of the party believed in keeping things neat in case you might need it in the future, and the other half believed in </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>keeping things neat precisely</span>
  <em>
    <span> because</span>
  </em>
  <span> you might need it in the future) and down towards the lakeshore where sure enough, Elie's cloaked form is sitting. His signature pointy hat is surprisingly nowhere in sight. When Viola’s close enough, he can see that the human has a small assortment of bones laid out in front of him. Considering Elie, this is the norm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Would you mind if I take this seat?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elie lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug, "I don't actually own this lake, dude," he says without looking, content to continue his jigsaw puzzle of bones.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You don't have to own a lake to be polite," Viola says lightly, and settles down next to Elie. The sun is starting to set over the mountains. The light reflected in the water in front of them is molten gold. As an alchemist and an aristocrat, Viola likes to think he's familiar enough with the color to warrant using it as a descriptor. Elie keeps busy beside him with the bones of what Viola now recognizes as those belonging to the sparrow Daefir had accidentally shot down during yesterday's target practice. The elf had been distraught, even when Elie promised to take care of the bird and give it a proper burial. On one hand, it was a reflection of the stress of the mission burdening them — the elf had a respectable proficiency in longbows and an even more respectable reverence for nature, and such an incident normally would have never happened — but on the other hand, it was also a lesson that perhaps giving your resident necromancer a corpse was only a creative exercise in what constituted a proper burial.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Does Daefir know that you're still playing around with his mistake?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Calling your brother a mistake is hardly polite, Sir Viola."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Maybe. But you and I both know that you are in too deep to consider your relationship with my brother as just 'playing around', Sir Elie."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elie grins, knife-sharp and bright. The sunset makes his hair glow with fire. Viola truly appreciates the boy, approves of him in a way he rarely does with his brother's matches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hell yeah, we do. Anyway, since I'm pretty sure that Daefir</span>
  <em>
    <span> also </span>
  </em>
  <span>told you he would totally murder you if he hears you talking about that night ever again, I'm assuming you mean Alexander The Great Lord of the Wings, over here."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You've named the bird skeleton."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Wouldn't feel right to animate them otherwise. It's ‘Lord Alex’ for short, by the way."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally satisfied that everything is set up, Elie recites the incantation with one hand on the bone arrowhead he wears around his neck as an arcane focus. (He had once told them it was carved from his very first kill. Until now, the question of what creature the bone came from remains unanswered). The bones in front of him, arranged with an unerring accuracy in a sparrow's natural bone structure, are briefly suffused with a dark glow. When it fades, the reanimated skeleton hops up and flies a lazy circle around Elie's head. The necromancer looks satisfied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a few minutes, Viola and Elie watch the skeleton in silence. It flies on magic instead of wind, and the lack of feathers on its wings is strange to behold. Elie has it perform a series of simple stunts, flying high and low, in circles and rolls. The surface of the lake remains calm and still, witness to the odd performance. Violet claps obligingly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Is there any reason for you to be burning third-level spells right now? We might soon find leads solid enough to act on."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elie calls the bird back, and it settles on his cupped hands.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'd say that I felt like haunting Daefir for kicks and prank points, but that's maybe more mean-spirited than he can handle right now."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Viola waits. He's been around his little brother's boyfriend enough to know that they can both be cajoled into sharing their problems with enough patience. Elie continues staring at the bird instead of at Viola. The bird returns the stare in his general direction. The empty eye sockets make it a bit difficult to tell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, Elie sighs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It's my cousin's death anniversary today."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah. Figured I could use some company," he says, nodding to the bird.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, now it seems as though you got a two for one special, and you didn't even need to waste a spell slot on me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"How do you know I'm not using </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dominate Person</span>
  </em>
  <span> on you right now?," Elie whispers and wiggles his fingers at him, in a decidedly non-spooky way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Viola indulges the urge to roll his eyes. "It is fairly obvious to the recipient when they are under thrall, Elie."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elie shrugs his lazy half-shrug again. "Well, now you can't claim I forced you to sit here and listen to my sad backstory. I was being </span>
  <em>
    <span>magnanimous</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mm. And what would that sad backstory be?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That I used to be greedy enough to want to become a lich, until my cousin asked me to be his anchor and watch over the ritual. I don't think I need to elaborate how unpretty a lich ritual can be when it goes wrong."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Violet nods in understanding. There's a reason lichdom is taboo - there was first the matter of ripping out your own soul while alive, and then the matter of combining it with raw arcane energy. Few could survive the process, but even those who do survive rarely maintain their sense of self. It creates a terrifying force of nature with access to unfettered power and a broken moral compass, which is never a good combination.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"If we weren't prepared beforehand, I wouldn't have lived through that day. I was his only witness. We were in the ruins of a holy temple, to make use of the old wards against the undead. He made his phylactery fragile on purpose, in order to give me at least a fighting chance."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"His contingency worked perfectly. The wards weakened him, reducing what power he could call on in his confused rage. All I had to do was break the glass amulet he stored his soul in, and poof, all I had left was an empty corpse and the realization that I damned him to an eternity of imprisonment in the astral plane. Talk about a terrible thing to do to someone you would call your anchor. I guess I just wasn't good enough."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he talks, Elie's voice doesn't waver from his usual performative monotone, but he resolutely refuses to look at Viola. The skeleton bird flees its perch when his hands tremble enough to unbalance it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My uncle didn't even react when I told him. One day he had a son, the next he had a disappointment. It just- it just frustrates me sometimes, how fucked up my childhood had to be because of my family. It's unfair. It's infuriating. I hate what they made me into, but sometimes it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> tiring to keep hating myself."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elie does not cry, but the rest of his body language betrays him. He has curled up his knees to his chest and drawn his cloak. Minute shudders run through him, obvious where his hands grip at the edges of the heavy fabric. Viola sighs quietly, once again made aware of the suffering the universe exacted in exchange for simple existence. He moves himself closer to Elie and wraps an arm around his shoulder, painfully reminded of times lost long ago, when he held his brother the same way, with the same helplessness burning through his lungs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You are among friends here, Elie. No one denies you your scars, and a burden shared is often a burden halved. We are glad to take on the load of loving you until you are capable of it. Carmine, most of all."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Elie huffs a tired laugh from where he's let himself be drawn willingly into Viola's side. "That's because Carmine's an idiot."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I would disagree out of respect for my brother, but that would simply be denial."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both laugh. Slowly, Elie relaxes. The skeleton bird once again flies above the lake. By now, the sun has set fully. The wind that whispers through the trees is chilled by the night. Stars begin to blink into visibility, a million lightyears overhead. The lake retains its peace, calm and smooth and still.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Before this moment of tender feelings ends and I pretend it never happened to continue cultivating my brand of cool death™, I want to say thank you. To all of you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>For </span>
  </em>
  <span>all of you. Being a necromancer is always a good career choice for being outcast and vilified, but here I was accepted with open arms. Not a lot of people can do that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You can just say you fell head over heels for my brother the minute he talked to you as a person and not a necromancer, it's okay."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I was genuinely having sappy feelings for our weirdo party and then you had to go ruin it. For shame, Viola."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They laugh together, once again. A comfortable silence settles over them like a warm, familiar blanket. Sitting there, their peace mirrored by the lake, they are content to wait for the rest of their ragtag team to come home.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Light</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ilamin is on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>mission.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Specifically a mission to raid the kitchen for hot chocolate. It's been a while since they were able to hole up in a house, and because this is Miles' old house, he plans on milking it for all it's worth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he sneaks out of the room he's sharing with Temerity and Rhis, the hallway is quiet. Outside the windows, the academic quarter of Silvershire has settled in for the night, as much as a congregation of perpetually sleep-deprived scholars and academics </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> settle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning the corner, he's surprised at the faint glow coming in through the kitchen's archway, and even more surprised when he finds Miles and Rhis sitting across each other at the table. Miles has cast </span>
  <em>
    <span>Light</span>
  </em>
  <span> on a teacup. He has a book in front of him that looks difficult to read in the dim light. They have a plate of sugar cookies between them, even though Rhis is still not a fan of eating in front of other people and Miles has never been one for sweet things. It's all very bizarre, but Ilamin is good at rolling with bizarre.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ilamin can tell the moment Rhis notices him, because his eyes narrow and his earfins pin back. It's an expression Ilamin is very used to receiving, so he mimes a shushing motion with his hand. Rhis goes back to staring moodily at the table. Miles, unaware, takes a sip from the mug at his elbow. Wow, these </span>
  <em>
    <span>losers</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Were they honestly just sitting here and brooding in the middle of the night?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Summoning whatever sneakiness he has (which is, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not a lot</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he hopes he's absorbed at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> from exposure to Carmine and Rhis), he clasps his hands on Miles' shoulders and exclaims, "Boo!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhis is decidedly unimpressed. Miles is decidedly unsurprised. If Ilamin were betting on a reaction, he definitely wasn't wagering on Miles barely flinching and turning to acknowledge him with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry for ruining your surprise,” and he’s genuinely sorry about it too, the big softie, “There's an </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alarm</span>
  </em>
  <span> spell on the house that lets me know if anyone other than me and Cel are moving around in here. I haven't gotten around to modifying it for the rest of you yet."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ilamin sighs theatrically and sinks his weight onto Miles, who bears the burden with indulgent grace, “My disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined. But!” he springs back up, “I’m not actually here to crash your weird midnight party or anything. I was in pursuit of some hot and chocolatey goodness.” He goes over to the counter and starts poking around at the pots and pans. After a second, he pauses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"In case that wasn't clear, I meant I had a craving for hot chocolate, teacher man." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, I understood you the first time. I usually just drink tea, but Cel might have bought milk when he went out earlier, and there should be chocolate in the refrigerator. If you want spices, the cabinet to your left should still be stocked."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Verrryyyyy</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice, Mr. Professor! I knew there was a reason you've survived this long and it sure as hell wasn't Cel's cooking."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, don't be so quick to discredit him. He can be quite helpful when it comes to making supply runs."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oooh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>supply runs</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Is that what they're calling it nowadays?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles laughs, caught off-guard but amused. Even Rhis snickers under his breath, shaking his head in a transparent effort to deny it. In the dead of night, the laughter makes the little kitchen feel alive in a way that makes Ilamin pleased down to his fingertips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He busies himself with navigating the kitchen, pulling down a small pot and setting it on the stove. The icebox yields a small block of wax-wrapped chocolate and a nearly-full bottle of milk. It's tagged with the name of the farm just outside of the city. The spice cabinet yields cayenne pepper, ground cinnamon, and a few pods of star anise, although it is sadly lacking in cardamom seeds and vanilla extract. Well, Ilamin was really only hoping for milk and chocolate, so the ingredients he does manage to scrounge up are far from the worst case scenario.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him, Rhis and Miles have once again lapsed into a companionable silence. Rhis watches Ilamin's preparations with curiosity, while Miles continues sipping at his tea and contemplating his book. The plate of cookies remains tragically untouched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he's finished grinding the spices together, Ilamin searches for the tinderbox to light the stove before he catches sight of Miles' smile. He raises a questioning eyebrow at the human. Then Miles casts </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fire Bolt</span>
  </em>
  <span> and sends a mote of fire towards the kindling under the stove, which helpfully ignites.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Pyromancer, remember?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Way to rub in the whole 'rangers-dont-get-cantrips' thing, thanks."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're welcome."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ilamin sticks out his tongue. Always a good fall-back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the fire now warming the pot, it's short work to toast the ground spices and melt in the chocolate and milk. The rich aroma fills the kitchen easily, flavoring the peaceful silence. Ilamin takes a moment to congratulate himself on a job well done, and ladles a hearty serving into two mugs. He used up all of the chocolate, so there's still a good amount left, enough for whoever wants to heat it up in the morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brings the mugs over to Rhis' side of the table, and sits down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On Rhis' lap, because there are only two chairs at the kitchen table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhis is predictably annoyed, and immediately starts pushing at Ilamin to get off him. Ilamin, despite being as slight as the average sylph, is remarkably talented at turning himself into dead weight. The petty slapfight comes to a stalemate. Rhis grumbles under his breath. Ilamin makes himself at home. Miles watches the proceedings with the fondness and patience only achievable by people who willingly subject themselves to the terrors of other people's children.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I suppose I have to apologize for only having two chairs in here, but Ilamin, you do know that there's a few stools in the living room, right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't worry, I totally know - sat on one earlier even! I'm considering this as a reward for lovingly slaving over this very delicious hot chocolate."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I didn't even ask for hot chocolate."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And still I made some for you! See the extent of my everloving generosity?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhis makes another attempt to push him off, but it's more half-hearted than anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey! If you make me spill my hot chocolate I will take back every single nice thought I've had of you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"There can't be that many."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You'd be surprised," Ilamin says, and winks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rhis averts his gaze in sudden embarrassment, turtling down into his scarf. Ilamin marks it as a point in his favor, and drinks deeply from his mug, which does nothing to hide his self-satisfied smile. He fishes a cookie from the plate and uses it to point at Miles across the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, flameo, how'sit like, being back here?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles takes a second to think over the question, which Ilamin takes as an opportunity to crunch on the cookie he's holding. As an interrogation tool, it leaves much to be desired, but as a cookie, it's decent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's unsettling, honestly," he says, resting his chin on his hand. The light from the teacup glints off his glasses. Ilamin, who has never had a home permanent enough to come back to, is curious. He can tell that Rhis’ attention is also perked, because the professor was usually more keen on helping other people through their problems instead of talking about his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"When we left, I thought it wasn't going to take long. It wasn’t the first time we’ve been called to adventure by Cel’s visions, and it’s not like prophecies are heavy on the specifics, just a vague sense of '</span>
  <em>
    <span>you need to go with these kids, fate demands it</span>
  </em>
  <span>'. So both me and Cel worked out a few plans with the temple and the school for a few weeks, a month maximum.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But instead of some cut-and-dry quest for fancy magic items or what have you, we go on this wild adventure to </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘save the world’</span>
  </em>
  <span> because ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>the gods chose you</span>
  </em>
  <span>’ and ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>failure is not an option</span>
  </em>
  <span>’, and with all the amount of accidents and near-deaths piling up… It’s enough to make you lose sight of living a normal life, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…. maybe?” Ilamin says, cocking his head to the side. Behind him, Rhis shrugs. Miles blinks at them before waving his hand, laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right, right, I forget your histories are a bit more colorful than mine. What I meant was that I miss things like waking up in my own bed, walking over to the school, </span>
  <em>
    <span>teaching…</span>
  </em>
  <span> But in the face of our mission, it feels selfish, somehow? Compared to the end of the world as we know it, it’s insignificant, even if it was the life I worked for years to earn. It's a bit frustrating. Especially now that we're back here and we're not even done with saving the world yet." Flames flicker out of his fingertips at the admission, and Miles sighs before dispelling them, "At some point, I think I gave up ever seeing this place again." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ilamin, who has never stayed in a place long enough to call it a home, who has cultivated a life of impermanence, understands how it feels in the exact opposite way. Knowing that he has friends now, that he has people who watch his back, it’s terrifying in its own way, that now he has something he wants to hold onto, something that could be ripped away from him so easily. He reaches down to hold Rhis' hand. It’s telling of the mood that the undine doesn’t even protest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But you don't regret it, right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You don’t regret being here with us, right?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Miles sees through the question for what it is, and smiles gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"After everything we’ve been through, I don't think I can."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the answer, some of the ever-present restlessness in Ilamin quiets down. Rhis, equally contemplative, makes no attempt to remove the arm wrapped around the sylph’s waist. Miles goes back to his book. The three of their mugs slowly drain empty. None of them volunteer the reason they’ve congregated in the kitchen in the middle of the night, unable to sleep. None of them have to. In comforting, understanding silence, they wait for the sun to rise. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Mending</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>They’ve had their new party member, Temerity, for a few days now, and with every day that passes they learn just a bit more about them. The tiefling is skittish but otherwise welcoming, and Blythe thinks that being cursed might have been the catalyst that brought out the former. The only party member they’re fully candid with is Carmine, understandably due to their history.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Blythe suppresses a wince as he once again remembers the many, many times the “Best Friend Rock” was dropped over the few months they’ve been traveling together. He supposes it’s a blessing in disguise that the curse made Temerity unable to perceive the world around them unless they expended a large amount of effort. It just so happens that they decided the best use of that effort was creating a patented aura of annoyance at some of Carmine’s antics.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Presently, dawn has just begun to break, and the caravan they're escorting is stopped at the side of the road leading into Topaz Hill. Temerity and Blythe are passing time by cleaning their weapons. They have a good amount of space to themselves in one of the backmost wagons, entirely because the moon elves who hired them were very, </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>snooty. They would only condescend to talk to Daefir and a glamoured Carmine. As humans, Elie, Miles, and Cel got neutral ignorance, but as an undine and a tiefling, the two of them got the short end of the stick called 'barely-hidden disdain'. Blythe is used to being seen as an unknown, with the rarity of undine roaming the land, and he supposes Temerity is even more used to it, living with their infernal heritage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know one thing I didn’t miss about being a rock?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Racism,” says Temerity, and they nod sagely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blythe loses control of the water he’s holding by laughing. He catches it again before it hits the wooden floor, but Temerity looks pleased anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would’ve thought you were going to say you missed having to do weapon maintenance, but right now that sounds like a perk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right? I forgot how </span>
  <em>
    <span>boring </span>
  </em>
  <span>adventurer downtime can be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blythe shrugs, “We can’t always be fighting dragons. That’s a good way to get an early retirement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But dragons are so </span>
  <em>
    <span>cool.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” pouts Temerity, and they go back to running over their daggers with a polishing cloth. Already done with cleaning his own daggers, Blythe continues amusing himself by using </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shape Water</span>
  </em>
  <span> to draw nonsensical pictures in the air. After a while, Temerity moves on to their greatsword. Blythe starts humming one of Daefir’s compositions, from last week’s tavern crawl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is during this time that he decides to pick up the conversation once more. Sometimes undine curiosity could be more of a curse than a blessing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So… how badly does it actually bother you? The racism?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Temerity gives him a questioning look, as though they don't understand why Blythe would pick up on it, and are confused at whether or not the two of them were close enough to warrant a truthful answer. They eventually put down the cloth, but the blade remains in their hand, half-polished. Blythe wonders if it makes a good metaphor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It would be nice to say that it doesn't bother me anymore, that I’ve learned that some people are just assholes and it’s not on me, but the simple fact is that I will </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>have to live with it, and my endurance only lasts so long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blythe nods, “It wasn’t until we left on this adventure that I learned how bad some people are at treating other people like people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Temerity’s lips quirk up in a half-smile. “Count yourself lucky you at least had a childhood free from it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blythe picks up on the implications that they didn’t. Temerity sighs, “The only reason I’m where I am now is because of Carmine and his family… if that idiot didn’t get so attached to me all those years ago I’d be dead in a ditch by now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh. Looks like we had more similarities than I thought… I would never have been able to go on this adventure either if I didn’t have Daefir by my side.” Unconsciously, his tone gentles towards the end, matching the tender smile growing on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Temerity snickers, “True… but I was never as sappy about fucking my childhood friend as you were just now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blythe, caught flat-footed, red-handed, and embarrassingly sentimental, violently launches the water he’s holding towards Temerity’s laughing form. The tiefling, now the one caught unawares, goes tumbling over the crate they were sitting on. This has the unintended consequence of snagging the greatsword they were holding on several storage bags, the contents of which add to the problem by spilling over the floor, and Temerity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is a beat of silence, as they both contemplate the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Temerity waves a hand from the floor, “Wild guess? We are totally going to get our asses handed to us over this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blythe hurriedly helps them up, “We need to fix this before they find out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m taking any suggestion that involves drying me off first,” they say, picking up the end of their waterlogged braid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, sorry about that…” Blythe sets to work casting </span>
  <em>
    <span>Prestidigitation</span>
  </em>
  <span> to dry off Temerity’s hair and shirt. They’re once again dry by the end of a few minutes, Blythe unthinkingly humming one of Daefir’s songs as he works. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s never a shortage of tavern music with you, is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep teasing and you’re going to end up with a faceful of water again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay… But speaking of taverns… how about we go for a drink in town instead of fixing up this mess?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, that’s a good idea!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, I never really pegged you for a day-drinker...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agh, not that! I meant going into town! It’s still pretty early but there should be at least a few stalls open in the marketplace, right? We could buy some bags as replacements!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not bad, Blythe! C'mon, I’m always down for an adventure!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait! We should leave a note for Daefir and the others. They might worry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Already halfway out of the wagon flap, Temerity has to settle down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good call. I’m not really in the mood to get more flak from the moonies running this caravan either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The note duly accomplished and pinned to the entrance of their wagon, the unlikely pair set off towards town.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(The note reads, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Went out to town to buy some stuff. Please don’t let the caravan people inside. Love you! - Blythe and Temerity</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Love you!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>is crossed out hurriedly, after Temerity made fun of Blythe for writing it on instinct.)</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>In the early morning, not a lot of people are out and about, but true to Blythe’s prediction there are a few early risers already hawking their wares in the marketplace. The area they’re in seems to be predominantly meat and produce, which isn’t exactly what they’re looking for. They both agree that it would be best to ask around for what they need to buy, but it's a fair few minutes before they find a shopkeeper who isn't immediately wary of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me? Do you know where we could find something like bags? And crates? For storage?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Ye’d be better off in the merchant’s ward, lad. Most’a the stuff for sale here’s food an’ the like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, okay, thanks! How do we get there, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’sa fair bit towards the back half of the town, but ye can cut through the alleyways an’ make better time. Jus' keep heading southwest, an' ye'll see tha signs soon enough. Can't miss it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you! We'll be heading off then!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blythe tips the seller a few copper pieces out of politeness, and the two of them continue on their way. The directions are easy enough to follow, as the town’s streets are structured in a clear grid. Whoever their city planner was, he knew what he was doing. The navigation proceeds without incident, until they come across an extremely narrow alleyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This'll be a tight squeeze, but I'm pretty sure we're almost there!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah… We're almost there..."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a note of nervousness in Temerity's voice that wasn't there before. Blythe frames them with a concerned look, but before he can ask Temerity is walking purposefully towards the small gap in the buildings. The early morning sun doesn't help much in illuminating the space, so Blythe has to lean on his darkvision to properly see Temerity in front of him in the darkened alley. It really is a tight squeeze, just a poorly-planned gap in the buildings rather than a dedicated alleyway, and the two of them can’t walk without their shoulders brushing the walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> For a few moments, everything seems fine, and Blythe is ready to attribute Temerity's odd nervousness to returning from their excursion before the elves found out about their mess. Until he suddenly collides with them, come to a dead stop at the narrowest part of the alley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Temerity? Are you okay?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tiefling doesn’t respond, but Blythe can hear them taking quick, shallow breaths in a struggle to breathe. Worry hits him like a knife to the chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Temerity! Can you hear me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still no response. He grabs at their shoulders to turn them around, height difference be damned, and frantically pulls at their hands to get their attention. Their eyes are open but unseeing, and he can feel their hands trembling in his grasp. Blythe is suddenly, violently reminded of how long Temerity was confined to the space of a stone, and how similar the area must feel to it. He is a veritable </span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He should have realized sooner. Temerity's breath stutters and they finally manage an unconvincing smile, their eyes finally focusing on him after great effort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I- I'm fine. We can keep going."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, you're not," Blythe says, worrying his lip and judging whether their entrance was closer than their exit. Going back the way they came wins out, and Blythe tugs at their joined hands to get Temerity walking with him. Temerity huffs a laugh, thin and tired, “I guess I’m really not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We need to get out of here, all right?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blythe rubs circles into the tiefling's shaking hands as he walks backward, keeping an eye on them. Their breathing is still painfully shallow, and every few seconds they screw their eyes shut, only to open them again after seeing the same dark, featureless space painted on the backs of their eyelids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they're out in the wan sunlight, Temerity staggers, dropping to a knee. The rest of their body folds like a house of cards, and they collapse against the wall. Blythe, uncaring of the people moving through the streets, sits himself down next to the tiefling's curled-up form.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time moves like molasses towards the warmth of morning, dragging on from their bleak dawn. The two of them sit in silence. Blythe still hasn’t let go of their hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Looks like they're just gonna have to live with their stuff all over the floor, then. This shopping trip is officially called off!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If the next words out of your mouth were supposed to be ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sorry’</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m legally allowed to smack you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s... a really specific law.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. The universe passed it about ten seconds ago when it sensed you were gonna say something dumb.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew it. The universe has it out for me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry you had to find out this way, Temerity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, how come I can’t say ‘I’m sorry’ but you can?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “The gods play favorites,” Blythe says, and nods sagely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Temerity snorts inelegantly, butting at Blythe’s shoulder. It quickly devolves into a petty slapfight the likes of which would leave a five-year-old in awe. Blythe loses when he gets the trailing ends of his sleeves tangled in the tiefling’s horns and leaves himself vulnerable to a fearsome tickle attack. For a moment, they’re just two kids roughhousing on the street, the traumas and destinies hanging above their heads forgotten. When they’re both breathless from laughing, Temerity relents, leaning back against the wall with a smile on their face. The rising sun paints both of them in warmth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know I’m currently banned from saying ‘I’m sorry’, so instead… Thank you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>(Later on, when they finally make their way back to the caravan, they find Daefir sitting on their wagon’s step, the earlier note folded neatly beside him. Blythe gravitates to his side like an endearing, undine-shaped magnet, and Daefir greets him with a kiss, as easy as breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm. You’re back a bit earlier than I expected. I’d have thought you’d get sidetracked exploring the town.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, we had to give up the bags as a lost cause.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Temerity nods in solidarity. Neither of them offer up the reason as to why exactly they called off their trip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you remember I actually know </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mending</span>
  </em>
  <span> and you could have just asked me to fix the bags?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is a beat of silence. Blythe looks at Temerity. Temerity looks at Daefir. Daefir looks amused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I forgot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Temerity laughs at that, finally carefree.)</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Vicious Mockery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The air in Leafgallow Glade is still, and silent. </p><p>There is a looming uneasiness in the forest that not even the cheerful brightness of the midmorning sun can dispel, but neither Cel nor Daefir find themselves capable of addressing it. They’re out investigating the ruins of an old keep that Cel feels inexplicably drawn to, ‘inexplicable’ being par for the course in an oracle’s life. Cel’s just learned to live with it. To ‘<em>go with the flow’ </em>, as they say.  Sometimes his tendency to surrender to the whims of Fate causes trouble for the more plan-oriented people around him but hey, that’s what he has Miles for anyway.</p><p>Speaking of Miles, the rest of their newly-forged party is otherwise occupied in the town of Elderwell, due to Elie’s insistence on combing through the renowned library for any scrap of information on the prophecies Cel had felt tying them together. Miles was easily won over by the promise of old books, that <em> nerd </em>, and Blythe, with his curiosity abound, had also agreed. </p><p>If it wasn’t for the matter of the strange pull he felt on the day they were meant to set out for the library, he would be there with them, probably having to remind Miles that eating, drinking water, and <em> breathing </em> were important even in the face of dusty old books <em> just teeming with knowledge and waiting to be understood, Cel! </em>He loved the guy, definitely, couldn’t grow up with a wall shared between their houses if he didn’t, but sometimes he felt like he deserved to foist off Miles in full nerd mode on someone else for a change.</p><p>At any rate, that left him with either Carmine or Daefir for choice of company, since Blythe was adamant that none of their group should be left alone if they could help it. Neither of the two had expressed much interest in the library — Daefir’s studiousness only extended to music, and Carmine’s intelligence was more the sort you picked up from experience rather than reading. It would have been ideal if he could bring both of them along, since the forest around Leafgallow Glade had apparently long been infested with monsters, but the two of them had a natural talent for getting on each other’s nerves, and the arguments were only entertaining for the first hour. Really made you wonder what Fate was thinking, choosing them for this vague mission when two of their number were like oil and water.</p><p>Regardless, what it came down to was this: would Cel rather have Daefir, who was marginally awkward with anyone that wasn’t Blythe but ultimately well-meaning, or Carmine, who was entirely in love with the sound of his own voice and had even less of a sense of boundaries than Cel (who had already lived his whole life being admonished by Miles for exactly that sort of thing)? </p><p>Put that way, the choice was obvious.</p><p>That brought him to his current situation, standing shoulder to shoulder with Daefir outside the ruins of what had once been the pride and joy of Leafgallow Glade. The old keep, once a bustling center for the comings and goings of traders looking to cross from the Cloudshear mountain range into the eastern side of the country, was now nothing more than an exhibit of decades of neglect. </p><p>“So this is what your <em> cleric senses </em> wanted you to check out?”</p><p>Both of them take a moment to consider the sight. All things considered, the ruins themselves are nothing out of the ordinary for ruins. There's a half-collapsed entrance, crawling with vines and seeping dread. The air is thick with lingering regret, curiously chilly even with the sun shining down on them. The signs couldn’t say '<em> turn back now </em>' any more clearly than they could without it being literally written in blood. </p><p>“Yep.”</p><p>It's a worrying life, getting used to this.</p><p>“C’mon, let’s head in.”</p><p>Daefir shrugs artlessly, content to follow Cel’s lead. The way forward is much the same as the entrance, thankfully perilous only by dint of years without upkeep, as it doesn’t seem as though anything untoward has made the ruins its nest. For a while, the only sound that echoes in the darkened tunnels are their footfalls, but eventually, either due to boredom or a natural proclivity for filling dead air, Daefir starts humming. The tune is light and sweet, and entirely at odds with their dungeon crawl. Cel doesn’t recognize it at all, but he doesn’t mind the sound of it, and it takes over the previous silence as they continue deeper in.</p><p>“Y’know, before I met you I thought bards would be more... eccentric.” Cel says absently, poking at the wall of the dead end they’ve come to with his sword. Finding nothing, he turns around just in time to catch Daefir making a face like he can’t decide if he’s pleased or offended. One of his ears is twitching, the earring hanging off the end glinting in the light of the torch Cel’s holding. Cel half-wishes he could commission someone to preserve the memory.</p><p>“Well sorry for not living up to expectations, but you’re hardly as expected either, o <em> wise prophet </em>.”</p><p>Cel snorts. “That’s fair. For what it’s worth, I meant it as a compliment. You’re a pretty chill dude.”</p><p>“Oh... Thanks.”</p><p>“Anyway. Any ideas where we go from here? I know there was that fork a ways back, but there’s no way we could get through those boulders unless you’re secretly half-goliath, because I’m definitely not.”</p><p>“What about your <em>cl</em>-”</p><p>“If you say <em>cleric senses</em> again I’m going to whack you with my scabbard.”</p><p>“-oser look at the wall, did you find anything while poking at it with your sword?”</p><p>“... You’re a tricky little shit.”</p><p>“Thanks, I try.” Daefir grins, and puffs out a shower of sparks from his fingers. </p><p>Of course, the effect is wholly ruined when Daefir leans against the wrong section of wall, and all the warning Cel gets is the ominous rumble of a trap activating before he has to put all his reflexes into grabbing at the elf's shirt before he falls backward. Daefir looks at him wide-eyed, his jazz hands still splayed out in front of him. The wall behind him has parted neatly, and his heels just barely hang over the edge of the drop. Cel offers a quick prayer to whoever’s listening for the surprising sturdiness of the floor, fully aware that should the edge have crumbled, the two of them would be hurtling towards their demise at whatever far bottom the wall had concealed. </p><p>He hauls the elf back away from the opening with the grip he still has on his shirt, and the two of them take a moment to recover. Daefir smooths out his shirtfront while pretending he isn’t rattled. </p><p>“Looks like this was supposed to be a dead end in more ways than one,” Daefir laughs, just barely on the edge of hysterical.</p><p>“We got careless. Just because we didn’t encounter anything on our way in doesn’t mean we can let down our guard.”</p><p>“You don’t need to tell me twice…” Daefir says, almost petulant, “I was the one that almost died doing <em> jazz hands </em>.”</p><p>“Imagine your tombstone, though. Here lies Daefir, who died as he lived: <em>doing jazz hands</em>.”</p><p>They both share a laugh at the thought. Nothing like a near-death experience to bring people together. When their laughter dies down, Daefir crawls up to the edge and peers down into it, not too trusting of standing at the moment. Cel follows, also on his hands and knees, like a respectable adult who isn’t afraid of unknown heights.</p><p>The hole beyond the wall is dark and featureless, but the coolness of the air that greets them suggests that there’s more than one entrance.</p><p>“Oh. I think I see something.”</p><p>Right. <em> Darkvision</em>. Humans really got the short end of the stick on that one.</p><p>Accepting that he’s not going to get anything from staring into a pitch-black hole, Cel retreats and gathers up the torch and sword he dropped earlier in favor of grabbing at Daefir. The sword has been through worse, and the torch still burns steadily, thanks to Miles’ enchantments.</p><p>“Looks like there's meant to be a path behind that dead-end, we just haven’t triggered it. It might lead to whatever we’re looking for."</p><p>"Maybe we should have brought the party rogue along after all."</p><p>Daefir shoots him a glare from where he's still kneeling on the floor.</p><p>“We’re managing just <em> fine </em>.”</p><p>“For a given definition of ‘fine’.”</p><p>Daefir rolls his eyes, “Whatever. So would you rather poke around here until we find out how to open that path, or…” </p><p>“Or?”</p><p>“We jump down from here and hope that I don’t fuck up casting <em> Feather Fall. </em>”</p><p>“<em> Oh hell yes. </em>”</p><hr/><p>Later, halfway through rummaging through the keep’s old records, a thought occurs to Cel.</p><p>“Wait, if you knew <em> Feather Fall </em> anyway, you would have been fine even if I didn’t catch you.”</p><p>“I’m honored you think I’d have enough presence of mind to remember my spell list in the middle of screaming as I fell down a deep, dark hole that I wasn’t expecting to fall down in the first place.” </p><p>“Fair.”</p><p>“Also if you didn’t even <em> attempt </em>to catch me I never would have forgiven you.”</p><p>“Also fair.”</p><hr/><p>Later, <em>much later</em>, they manage to leave the ruins in one piece, although Daefir is out of spell slots and Cel is sporting a lively selection of bruises. What’s more important is the yellowed scroll now kept safely in Cel’s pack, detailing a mysterious, destructive power foretold to arise in the Cloudshear Mountains, tied to the worship of the Last Pantheon. It’s vague and hurried and clearly the type of story passed around in whispers, but it’s a start. A lead. A <em> warning </em>.</p><p>They emerge back into the sunlight of the Glade, content in an objective met. They're done here. Or they would be, if it weren't for Daefir tripping over a Creeper's root and dooming their otherwise completed scouting mission into yet <em> another </em> combat encounter. Seriously, whoever said elves were the epitome of grace had obviously never spent more than a day in proximity with one. </p><p>Or maybe it was just Daefir.</p><p>Daefir curses and nocks an arrow, firing it at the Crawling Creeper advancing on them. He misses. Cel sees his ears twitch again. And because Cel has never learned the politeness all oracles were expected to have, he laughs openly.</p><p>Not the smartest move, considering that gets the Creeper’s attention and it whips one of its vines at him. He blocks the blow with his sword, but the poisonous spikes come a little too close for comfort.</p><p>“Karma,” Daefir mutters from beside him.</p><p>The creature shrieks and dives at them with fangs bared, and Cel has to put the snarking on hold in favor of diving to the side. Daefir is not so lucky, and while he manages to avoid the worst of the fangs, he still gets thrown back by the force. </p><p>“Daefir!”</p><p>“I’m fine!”</p><p>“You better be,” Cel bites out, and charges at the Creeper, who has yet to recover its balance from its last attack. His first hit lands true, and the creature shrieks in pain at the severance of one of its limbs, and his second hit scores a livid red line across its flank before he has to dodge out of the way. He can tell that he’s angered the Creeper now, and it’s attention is focused on him instead of Daefir, who’s still prone on the forest floor. </p><p>"Stay behind me, kid," Cel orders, taking up a defensive stance and waiting for the Creeper’s next move.</p><p>"I can take care of myself!"</p><p>"Yeah, well, we're going with practicality here, and I'm sure as hell not the one out of spell slots!"</p><p>“I have a better idea. How about you go play a nice game of hide and <em> go fuck </em> <b> <em>yourself</em> </b>!”</p><p>He feels the subtle enchantment he’s come to recognize as Daefir casting <em> Vicious Mockery </em>, and he ducks purely on instinct. The blast from behind him hits the monster instead, and the psychic damage is enough to take it out. Unfortunately, in its death throes, one of the vines manages to catch Cel at the waist, sending him crashing into a tree a few feet away.</p><p>Daefir's self-satisfied smirk at his victory is quick to morph into concern when he spots Cel’s state.</p><p>“Shit. Cel!” he exclaims, scrambling up in a flurry of limbs and hurrying to the oracle’s side.</p><p>“Whoa now, don’t sound too enthusiastic about finding me dead.” Cel deadpans, and attempts to sit up, only to find his body unresponsive, numbness creeping out from where he was hit. </p><p>“Fuck. That’s the poison alright. We’re lucky that all it does is induce paralysis.”</p><p>“Not lucky enough, since it managed to miss your mouth. I was looking forward to some peace and quiet,” Daefir says, but his usual bite is dulled. His eyes are worried when he helps Cel up into a sitting position.</p><p>“Are you hurt anywhere else? Aside from the poison?"</p><p>"Nah, just a bunch of cuts and scrapes. Far as I can tell, anyway."</p><p>“That’s… good,” Daefir murmurs, busying himself with rummaging through his pack for a medical kit. Cel feels that’s not all he wants to say, so he waits. It doesn’t take long, before Daefir is turning back towards him with a sigh.</p><p>“Just because I can be clumsy doesn’t mean you have to protect me.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>"Just because I'm weaker than you doesn't mean I don't have things I want to protect, too."</p><p>"I know."</p><p>"Strength isn't everything."</p><p>"You're preaching to the choir, kid. My bloodline is made up of fucking <em> oracles </em>. We're not exactly made for getting tossed around on the battlefield."</p><p>"And yet here you are, slamming yourself into trees."</p><p>"I seem to recall that the reason I got slammed into a tree in the first place was because <em> someone </em>wanted to show off their cantrips."</p><p>Daefir frowns at him, and Cel is momentarily worried that it might have been too soon, but evidently his earlier fire has returned. In a clear show of pettiness, he casts<em> Prestidigitation </em> to chill Cel’s socks. Cel curses at him. </p><p>(For what it’s worth, the elf still makes the effort to bandage Cel's injuries anyway. It would almost be heartwarming, if it weren't for the socks.)</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. True Seeing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"This is one swanky town," Carmine comments, as he, Elie, Blythe, and Daefir walk down the main street of the town of Bittermoon. </p><p>The shops lining the street are full of eye-catching displays, touting magical artifacts and curiosities,  gleaming weaponry, yellowed maps of every inch of the continent, and even the latest in fashions from the various kingdoms. There's no shortage of bars and taverns, either. Carmine is <em> delighted </em>.</p><p>"I have an idea!" Blythe announces, stopping in his tracks in the middle of the street. Elie bumps into him, too absorbed in staring at the shopfronts. Daefir, bringing up the rear, sighs and leads both of them to the side, in the manner of one well-practiced with wrangling his eternally capricious childhood friend. Carmine, who had been walking next to Elie and had made absolutely no move to stop him, snickers.</p><p>"Very helpful, Carmine."</p><p>"You're welcome, <em> mom </em>."</p><p>Daefir clicks his tongue in annoyance. Before he can say anything else, Blythe interjects again.</p><p>"We're nearing a month since we all started traveling together, right?"</p><p>The other three make vague noises of agreement. Elie raises his hand like they’re in a classroom.</p><p>"Honestly I'm surprised it's almost been a month. I thought for sure Carmine and Daefir would have killed each other by now."</p><p>"Haha, very funny."</p><p>"Yeah, well, <em> someone </em> has to be. Since the only joke you can offer is your existence."</p><p>"Oh, wow. Putting teeth in your mouth really ruined a <em> perfectly good </em> <b> <em> asshole</em> </b> <em> . </em>"</p><p>"Ow!"</p><p>"You fall for it every time, Carmine."</p><p>"Shut it, Elie."</p><p>“I just call it like I see it, my man. And what I see is you constantly forgetting Daefir has <em> Vicious Mockery </em> on him.”</p><p>“Don’t worry Elie, it’s Carmine’s fault for being so vapid.”</p><p>“I am going to <em> shank </em> you.”</p><p>Blythe makes a pointed <em> a-hem </em>and puts his hands on his hips.  The other three guiltily quiet down under the force of the undine’s threatening glare. </p><p>(It’s actually more pout than glare, Blythe squinting his eyes and crinkling his nose, and it’s more <em> endearing </em>than threatening, but it achieves the desired effect, at any rate.)</p><p>"<em> As I was saying, </em>it's been almost a month, right? And since we have a bit of downtime, plus this town is bigger than the usual ones we've visited… how about we buy each other gifts?"</p><p>“Huh.. that’s not such a bad idea.” Elie says, but Carmine knows he’s secretly delighted at the thought. <em> Adorable </em>.</p><p>“I agree, it seems that it could be pretty fun.”</p><p>“No objections from me either, I am totally <em> dying </em>to go shopping.”</p><p>Blythe claps his hands together, delighted. Daefir smiles at him, his embarrassingly soppy adoration clear as day.</p><p>“It’s settled, then. Our next adventure is finding each other gifts!”</p><p>Elie pumps a fist in solidarity. Daefir <em> prestidigitates </em> a small shower of sparks. Carmine just grins, fond of their little party but not yet willing to admit it outright.</p><p>“Four hours should be enough time, I think. Oh, and we have to shop for our gifts alone, okay? I want it to be a surprise!" </p><p>Carmine has half a mind to follow Elie around anyway, but Elie shoots him a look that says, <em> 'If you ruin this I promise you're going to wake up in the tender embrace of the reanimated corpse of whatever unfortunate rodent I come across next.' </em></p><p>Hot.</p><p>Elie's face, not the theoretical rodent corpse, just to be clear.</p><p>"Pfft, okay. Where should we meet up?"</p><p>"Hmm… the fountain in the middle of the plaza is as good a place as any. It's easy enough to ask for directions if someone gets lost."</p><p>"That works for me. Elie, Carmine, your say?"</p><p>"Roger that."</p><p>"Yep."</p><p>"Okay then, see you guys in four hours! Operation: Celebrate a One-Month Anniversary by Buying Each Other Gifts, commence!"</p><hr/><p>Carmine whistles a tune to himself as he walks, idly making note of what shops to check after. Since he has the time anyway, his first stop is the post office, to write to his eternally-worried mother and his equally eternally-worried brother. At least Viola does a better job of hiding it. </p><p>He makes sure to pick out the gaudiest postcard they have, knowing full well Viola was the one with the unfortunate task of sorting through Carmine's mail and he wouldn’t appreciate Carmine’s questionable aesthetics.</p><p>(This arrangement came to pass after the great debacle wherein his mother mistakenly opened a package meant for Viola, which had contained a Ring of Spell Storing he intended as a gift, except he also couldn't resist putting in a <em> Stinking Cloud </em> spell meant to be triggered when the package was opened. How was he supposed to know it was going to end up going off in the foyer, causing half the manor staff to fall ill with retching and reeling, instead of just stinking up Viola’s room? So <em> maybe </em> he wasn’t actually listening when Ra’elh was explaining the spell, sue him. People make mistakes.)</p><p>His short letter signed off and the animal messenger paid for, Carmine heads out to do some <em> serious </em>shopping.</p><hr/><p>Roughly three hours later, he has his gifts all present and accounted for. Pun intended.</p><p>For Elie, he has a wizard’s hat in a deep purple velvet, with the symbol of the god Kelemvor embroidered onto the front with enchanted golden thread. It’s enchantment was such that the wearer could use it to cast the cantrip <em> Spare the Dying </em> for free once a day. The hat itself is a bit silly and stereotypical, but Carmine’s been around Elie to know that it’s the kind of thing he would love, especially with the pride he takes in his magic and his stance on the importance of the right hat (see also: detective hats), but would never have bought himself out of practicality.</p><p>For Blythe, he has a small, intricately-carved box, so that the undine could have more secure storage for the rune dice he carried around as a memento from his family. It was enchanted so that it could only be opened by the owner and whoever they allowed. </p><p>For Daefir, he has a pair of earrings shaped like drama masks, originally enchanted so that the comedy mask would constantly crack jokes while the tragedy mask said nothing but complaints and grievances, but he got the shop owner to modify the spell to make both of the earrings throw out nothing but insults. It’s <em> perfect </em>. But he did also buy him some quality violin rosin in a fancy black box inlaid with swirls of gold, just so Blythe or Elie can’t accuse him of being a spoilsport.</p><p> Truth be told, getting them magical items (no matter how common the class of rarity) wasn’t entirely necessary, but it’s not like he has a better use for his money anyway. Might as well spoil his teammates (friends, at this point, if he’s being honest) once in a while.</p><p>Since he still has a bit of time before their supposed meet-up, he figures he can duck into one of the taverns for a quick drink before he heads over to the plaza fountain. </p><p>The tavern is as full as you’d expect for the mid-afternoon - a few occupied tables, a handful of stragglers, mainly content with minding their own business. It’s easy enough for Carmine to slide into a seat at the bar and order a tankard of spiced mead. </p><p>A scant few minutes after he’s made himself comfortable, two new strangers walk through the doorway. They’re dressed in an odd, foreign style, draping layers and muted colors, with no immediately obvious tailoring. Combined with their hair — white for the one in front, black for the other — and their pale skin, they almost look like an old, grayscale painting. The only spots of color are their eyes —  a striking bright gold. </p><p>Carmine’s curiosity is piqued. </p><p>The white-haired man scans the tavern slowly, and when his eyes catch sight of Carmine, he smiles. The sharp points of his teeth make it more predatory than friendly, but hey, Carmine has fangs himself, and he’s no stranger to getting hit on in bars. So, as one does when confronted with some possibly dangerous but highly interesting strangers, he waves them over.</p><p>“Hail and well met, stranger. Care to give a name? I know I’m too pretty to <em> not </em> make eyes at, but it would only be polite.”</p><p>“Why, of course. Far be it for me to be impolite. I go by the name Priciar Lightborn, and this is my brother, Vyufras Moonshield.”</p><p>The strange names roll off his tongue with ease. Carmine spares a moment to wonder if the other just wants to see him trip over the syllables, and resolves to not allow himself to be cornered into having to say them aloud.</p><p>“Charmed. Most know me as Carmine Quickstep, but I also go by <em> rakishly handsome, the man of your dreams, lord and master, prince charming… </em> It’s a long list, you understand.”</p><p>“The others are a bit of a mouthful, aren’t they? Regretfully, I think I’ll have to stick with Carmine<em> . </em>”</p><p>“Well, your loss,” Carmine shrugs, “Anyway, you two here on vacation? You don’t look like locals.”</p><p>“Mm… yes, you could say that. Our hometown isn’t exactly the most lively of places, so it’s quite nice to get out once in a while. Although, poor Vyufras doesn’t cope very well with being in crowds,” sighs Priciar, tipping his head towards his dark-haired brother behind him. The other man hasn’t even taken a seat, instead remaining standing behind Priciar, blankly staring in the general direction of the floor. The bandages peeking out from wherever his clothes don’t cover aren’t much help in making him seem friendlier, either.</p><p>Carmine is a little unnerved by the guy, but to each their own. If he’s enjoying the creeping mute shadow mummy thing he’s got going on then, more power to him. Woo.</p><p>“At any rate,” Priciar starts, dragging Carmine’s attention back to him, “Care for a round of Three-Dragon Ante? I was looking to kill a bit of time, and you seemed as interesting an option as any.”</p><p>He smiles his knife’s edge smile again, and this close, Carmine can see the colors in his eyes flicker and shift, almost reptilian. </p><p>Carmine has a sneaking suspicion that he probably shouldn’t have taken his eyes off his drink, which is a damn shame, because he was only halfway through the glass. But better a glass left half-full than an empty glass of poison. Priciar seems nice enough on the surface, but the longer Carmine talks to him the more he feels there’s something wrong with the guy, in the lilt of his voice and the secrecy in his smile. </p><p>Still, he can’t deny he’s curious. There’s an indefinable intrigue that draws him to Priciar, like a moth to a flame but twice as clueless. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen in a game of cards? Just his loss and a bit of bruised pride, surely? The rock in his pocket, or as it has been affectionately dubbed, the <em> Best Friend Rock, </em>does not approve of this.</p><p>However, before he can agree, the clocktower rings, far off in the distance. The chimes mark the fast-approaching meeting time for their party’s little celebration, and Carmine will be damned if he’s missing that over some guy in a bar, no matter how intriguing.</p><p>“Ah, that’s unfortunate. Sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got a prior engagement I need to get to.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s no problem. Should our paths cross in the future, I’ll collect my card game then.”</p><p>“Yeah, who knows. See ya.”</p><p>“Farewell, Carmine Quickstep.”</p><hr/><p>When Carmine is out the door and out of sight, Priciar smiles to himself. He beckons his brother closer, who obeys without a word. When Vyufras is close enough, he winds his arms around his waist and lays his head on his chest, almost gentle.</p><p>“Would you like to know what I saw with my <em> truesight </em>?”</p><p>“Only if you would deign to share it with me, my prince.”</p><p>Without warning, Priciar lets his nails shift back into claws, digging them into the flesh of his brother’s stomach. The bandages immediately spot with blood. Vyufras bears the suffering without wincing, and the flash of pain in his eyes disappears as fast as it comes. When Priciar turns his face up to him, his smile has gained a sickly-sweet edge.  </p><p>“I’m in a good mood today, my darling brother. It seems that the other gods have begun to choose their champions. I could feel the mark of <em> The Forgestoker </em> on that kitsune.”</p><p>“When the day comes that they challenge you, I will strike them down. I won’t allow your defeat.”</p><p>“Oh, as if you have a <em> choice </em> , my shield. Now come, we are returning to the temple. I would <em> hate </em>to be unprepared for my destined guests, after all.”</p>
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